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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904849">Theon Greyjoy Kink Bingo Fics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopherscribe/pseuds/Philosopherscribe'>Philosopherscribe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Gender Issues, Heke is his own warning, Jealousy, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Meta, Possessive Behavior, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Rare Pairings, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Watersports, Yandere Ramsay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:41:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopherscribe/pseuds/Philosopherscribe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My Theon Greyjoy Kink Bingo Fics.</p><p>1. Pain<br/>2. Penance/Punishment<br/>3. Washing/Cleaning<br/>4. Gags/Silence<br/>5. Bites/Bruises</p><p>These are mostly Thramsay but also some background pairings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damon Dance-for-Me/Myranda (Game of Thrones), Ramsay Bolton/Jeyne Poole, Ramsay Bolton/Reek | Heke, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Theon Greyjoy Kink Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I usually write in the bookverse but this AU is a combination of the book and show canon.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He screamed and screamed and screamed in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>He screamed like a raven in the godswood, he was struggling on the cross like a kraken trapped in a hunter’s net. Every groan, every contortion, every prayer and plea for mercy was met with loud cheers from his master’s Boys. The baying sound reminded him of the Girls on their hunts, he felt the blood rush to his head and had a fleeting vision of himself as the flayed man on the Bolton sigil. His mouth was an endless abyss of agony, and his ravaged lips could only form the following words: “Please, cut it off, cut it off, cut it off!”</p><p> </p><p>At long last, his master relented. Silver eyes were dark with triumph and heady bliss. He leaned in to whisper huskily in his ear, almost as if he were making love to his Reek rather than flaying the ring finger of his left hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Beautiful Reek.”</p><p> </p><p>The knife came down in a flash of light and the finger was gone. </p><p> </p><p>Reek’s eyes widened in relief and he sagged on the cross, weeping quietly. Ramsay quickly moved to embrace him. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re doing so well, my sweetling. I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Reek was so startled by the admission, he stopped crying. </p><p> </p><p>The artist sitting next to his master in the dungeon had a leather canvas propped up in front of him. He had the sky-blue eyes and flame-red hair that Reek used to find attractive in both women and men. The artist was painting with a flourish and his brush swirled across the canvas. Ramsay examined the painting and a smile danced across his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Now that is really something.” </p><p> </p><p>The artist bowed. Ramsay clapped his hands. Damon and his wife Myranda, who worked in the kennels and often accompanied the Boys on their exploits, sprang forward with a blood-red bag of silver coins. She was lithe and dark while he was a meat-headed muscle man with a shock of blonde hair. Myranda was the only Girl in Ramsay’s pack who wasn’t a dog. Ramsay handed the bag to the artist.</p><p> </p><p>“You have pleased me, so I’ll pay you double what I promised.”</p><p> </p><p>The artist took the bag with the greedy look of a child eyeing a bag of sweets. He was supposedly one of the best painters in the Dreadfort. Ramsay had commanded him to paint his Reek while he was being flayed. The sight, he said, was too beautiful not to put on paper.</p><p> </p><p>Ramsay had a singer’s soul, his Lord father often remarked about it. Torture, like music, was an art for him, and he was surprisingly quick to appreciate artistic talent in others. All this despite his clumsy peasant upbringing, Theon said sourly at the back of his mind. Reek quickly buried the thought. </p><p> </p><p>Ramsay turned his head and forced him to look at the painting. “The nice man did such a wonderful job, didn’t he Reek?” </p><p> </p><p>Reek stared at the painting through a haze of tears. He didn’t recognize the creature being flayed in the painting. A ghost with wispy bone-white hair and grey skin. Was he really a man once? Had he really been a Prince with a trail of girls vying to get him into bed? The creature in the painting looked like a worm speared on a hook. What his master saw in him was beyond his broken mind. Why, oh why did his master have to use him like a woman? Why couldn’t he sate himself with whores, the way Reek used to before he knew his name?</p><p> </p><p>Ramsay was still waiting for an answer. “What do we say to people who are nice to us?”</p><p> </p><p>Reek shyly glanced up at the artist through silver eyelashes. “Thank you for honoring Reek by drawing this picture of him. Reek is a useless, ugly thing. He is unworthy of your attention.”</p><p> </p><p>Damon smirked and Myranda tittered. His strong arm slid around her waist and she leaned into it. Her soft, ladylike, feminine laughter hurt just as much as Damon’s whip. They were both lowborn, and much like Ramsay, they reveled in the chance to torment one who had been a highborn Lord.</p><p> </p><p>Ramsay had once let Damon have his Reek while he watched. Myranda had helped him geld his Reek. And she had performed a strip-tease for him afterward, in order to mock him for his phantom cock.</p><p> </p><p>Theon had never known that women, or men for that matter, were capable of such cruelty. They were clearly soulmates, a couple from his worst nightmares. Reek sometimes wondered if it was Myranda who corrupted Damon, or Damon Myranda. </p><p> </p><p>The artist was staring at Reek with a very strange look on his face. Ramsay saw the look and his eyes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you get such a good likeness of him, anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>The artist blushed.</p><p> </p><p>“I desire him, my Lord,” he whispered in a low, heated confession, “I would give one of my hands just to have your creature once. You made him beautiful, and that’s why I felt inspired to draw him so beautifully.”</p><p> </p><p>It occurred to Reek that everyone in the Dreadfort was sick in some way, not just his master and his followers. Even the artists in this place had a warped idea of beauty. Anyone who found him beautiful had to be sick.</p><p> </p><p>In a swift motion, Ramsay drew his blade and slashed off the artist’s hand. The man screamed and doubled over, moaning as he clutched the bloody stump. His bag of money clinked and fell to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Myranda, Damon, and the other Boys shifted uncomfortably. Ramsay smiled harshly at the sobbing man on the ground. His pale eyes were blazing.</p><p> </p><p>“From now on, no one but I will ever desire my Reek. Not even in their dreams.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The scene in this chapter was vaguely inspired by an Indian movie called Aptharakshaka.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Penance/Punishment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This work was heavily inspired by many other works: Oscar Wilde’s Salome, anonymously-written Victorian stories called The Yellow Room and The Stepmother, acerbitas’ works Gratitude and The Jape, and several very old fanfics called The Second Strongest Man in Asgard by thorgony, The Hogwarts Habit by Venivincere, The Good Son by sise5, The Merry-Go-Round by abstractconcept, Breaking the Boy by Irana Potter Snape, and The King is Dead, Long Live the King by albi-factory.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every now and again, his master took him over his knee and smacked his bottom until there were tears in his eyes. His pain pleased his master and brought a smile to his lips. Ramsay also became aroused when he beat his new bride, Lady Arya and made her bleed, but he allowed her more dignified blows on her back, the same place where Lord Baelish and his men used to have her whipped at the brothel. And he never took her over his knee. That was an intimacy reserved for Reek alone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She bores him. She will not survive long if she bores him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The thought made him feel slightly nauseous. Reek hated to admit it, but he had let himself become fond of little Jeyne Poole. She was the last link he had to the person he’d been before. The only part of Winterfell that hadn’t been reduced to ashes when he’d turned his cloak and burned it. Reek wrenched away from her. He had to put as much space between them as possible. Her touch burned him, ice so cold it was almost fire. The way she made him feel frightened him.</p><p> </p><p>Jeyne had never had her friend Lady Sansa’s courage. And despite or perhaps because of the brothel, she had none of the seductive charm that came so easily to Myranda. The charm Reek had found so entrancing in Ros and Kyra, back when he still had a cock.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "If we ran away, I could be your wife, or your...your whore...whatever you wanted. You could be my man." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A man would save her. But Reek was no one’s man, least of all hers. His master had seen to that.</p><p> </p><p>The man Reek had been died long ago at Winterfell, and he had risen again as a living corpse that smelled of the grave. Jeyne, too, was pale and bloodless as a corpse buried in the snow. They were dead people walking. There were days Reek longed to sleep in her arms, buried and rotting in the ground. But her name rhymes with pain, and his name rhymes with weak, meek, bleak, and sneak. His Lord was sure to flay them both for this sneaking fondness for his Lady. </p><p> </p><p>His master’s bedroom in the Dreadfort was filled with blood-red paintings of his hunting exploits. Here in Winterfell, his chambers were dark and dreary, save for the painting the unfortunate artist had done of Reek. Ramsay had given it to Reek. A token of his love, he called it. And every night, he whispered to Reek as softly as a lover, almost as if Reek were his new bride and not Lady Arya.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I’m the only one you love, aren’t I, Reek? I’m the only one who wants to fuck your dirty little hole.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>In a real sense, Reek was his bride: His dog, servant, best friend, and bride. The first Reek had been some of those things to his master as well. </p><p> </p><p>The hardest part was sharing his bed. Lord Ramsay made him sleep naked in his arms. And ever since the gelding, Reek struggled to control the contents of his bladder. It was another reason he felt unworthy of Lady Arya’s affections. No girl deserved a husband like Ramsay, but neither did she deserve a husband who pissed himself at night. Ramsay and Reek, on the other hand, deserved each other. A bastard and a turncloak, they were both despised by the people in the North. There were days that Reek could almost believe they belonged together as husband and wife. </p><p> </p><p>Reek, it rhymes with leak and freak.</p><p> </p><p>On most days, he reeked of night soil and stale vomit and pig shit and horse piss. And the problem of his bladder made him reek even more. But in the kennels, he was at least able to use his rags to wipe up the mess before anyone else could see his shame.</p><p> </p><p>In his master’s bed, there was nowhere to hide.</p><p> </p><p>Lord Ramsay rarely slept in the night, instead choosing to stare at his Reek. And poor Reek slept fitfully, forever trapped in the strange space between nightmares and reality. He dreamed of his master’s eyes burning into him like molten silver, like the blade of a flaying knife, and he often woke to those same eyes staring at him in the darkness. <em> Ghost grey</em>, some men called the shade. Those eyes were a ghost that haunted him and chased him in his dreams. On another man, the strange look in them could have been mistaken for passion.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> My master’s eyes are silver lakes troubled by the winter moon.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>One cold winter morning, in the dark before the dawn, Reek woke up to the warm feeling of a damp stain on the sheets. His Lord was watching him with rapt attention, as usual. At the sight of the stain, what little color there was on his pet’s face left it. Sweat beaded his brow. His mangled hands clutched the sheets as though they could shield him from his master’s burning gaze.</p><p> </p><p>Ramsay ran a finger over the stain and sniffed it. </p><p> </p><p>“You pissed yourself on my bed.”</p><p> </p><p>The words were like the calm before a winter storm. </p><p> </p><p>“Y-yes, m’lord. I’m very sorry.” </p><p> </p><p>His master screwed up his face.</p><p> </p><p>“You soiled the sheets in your fucking filth. I was nice to you, I let you sleep in my bed and this is you repay me! I am disappointed. And the way you smell disgusts me.”</p><p> </p><p>Reek hung his head. He did not like his Lordship’s smile, the way his eyes were shining, the spittle glistening at the corner of his mouth. He had seen such signs before. His master was a liar and he was anything but disgusted.</p><p> </p><p>“You must be punished, sweetling. You must have your bottom smacked.”</p><p> </p><p>Reek cringed and crawled into a familiar position on his lap.</p><p> </p><p>Once, a boy called Theon Greyjoy had been starved for real father-son bonding; he had craved this kind of punishment from Balon Greyjoy and Eddard Stark instead of the cold and unfeeling discipline he received from them. <em> He must have been mad. </em>Now Reek had a master who spanked his bottom like he was a child, and it hurt terribly.</p><p> </p><p>Lord Ramsay gently massaged his bum. One hand ran appreciatively over his buttocks, while the other settled on his hip to steady him. </p><p> </p><p>“My sweet puppy with his sweet little tail. I wanted to get my hands on this tail for a very long time, but you were a Lord and a Prince. Now you are finally mine.” </p><p> </p><p>What was he talking about? If he’d had a tail, he would have tucked it down between his legs.</p><p> </p><p><em> If I had a tail, the bastard would have cut it off, just as he cut off my cock. </em> The thought came unbidden, a vile thought, dangerous. His Lordship was not a bastard anymore. <em> Bolton, not Snow.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Ramsay poured himself a cup of wine from the table and sipped it, savoring the feel of his Reek naked and bottoms-up on his lap. The wine was red as the garnet in his ear, red as rose petals. It was oddly romantic. </p><p> </p><p>“I want you to repeat after me, Reek: I have been a nasty, bad, naughty boy. I peed like a bitch before my Lord and I deserve to be soundly smacked on my bare bottom.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-I have been a n-nasty, b-bad, n-naughty boy,” Reek whispered, “I peed like a b-bitch before m’lord...and I deserve to be soundly smacked on my b-bare b-bottom.”</p><p> </p><p>He could feel his master’s hardening cock twitch. The words felt like razor blades scraping the inside of his mouth.  </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He will never take my tongue, he likes to make me say it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’m your Reek. Please punish me, m’lord. Please.” </p><p> </p><p>“Since you ask so nicely, how can I deny you?” His master asked, and Reek could hear the dark smile in his voice. “A naughty boy must have a well-stung bottom. It teaches him obedience and submission. I’m afraid your namesake had to beat this lesson into me, I was a slow learner but I learned well in time. And so will you.” His voice dropped and the last words were said in an intimate whisper.</p><p> </p><p>Reek took a deep, shuddering breath. His sore stomach was pressed up against the heat of his master’s thighs, and he felt a surge of dread. </p><p> </p><p>“I will submit m’lord, I promise. But before you punish me, please let me go do something.”</p><p> </p><p>His master cupped his buttocks and looked down at him curiously. “And what do you want, my sweet Reek?”</p><p> </p><p>Reek swallowed hard. “Let me go and pee again, m’lord. I need to, most dreadfully.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you want to very badly, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>The hand stole between his legs from behind and teasingly tickled the place where the pee was burning to rush. It was all poor Reek could do to hold it in.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh don’t!” He shrieked. “If you do, I shall wet myself again. I know it. Please m’lord, please let me go!” </p><p> </p><p>“No sweetling, I most certainly shall not. It is a part of your punishment. You will have to learn to hold it in.”</p><p> </p><p>Reek squirmed on his master’s lap and cried softly to himself. His Lord gently caressed his buttocks in order to soothe him. It was astonishing to Reek that the same hands that flayed him could also give him so much pleasure. His master lightly tapped the space between his legs with his finger; Reek obediently spread them and gradually relaxed into the pleasure his master’s hand gave him. His bottom, and the tender skin between its cheeks, his scar, and thighs were most completely exposed. All the hot water inside him warmed his parts; it was an acute reminder of the nature of his transgression. And it made him feel extremely naughty. The former Prince felt himself prostrated before and at the mercy of his master, and experienced a luscious thrill at the thought he really deserved to have his bottom punished by his Lord. </p><p> </p><p>“We will begin now.” </p><p> </p><p>SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. </p><p> </p><p>“Ow, my bum hurts! Oh, m’lord! How your hand stings!” </p><p> </p><p>SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!</p><p> </p><p>Reek sniffled and sobbed. Did his master have to hit his bum so hard? His poor bottom danced and jiggled under his hand, it was bouncing girlishly, and the pee inside him bounced in his bladder with every slap. His master kept his fingers stiff as a board, and occasionally gave the tender skin around his balls and hole and scar little love taps, greatly increasing his efforts to escape. His bladder was tightly compressed against his lap and he squeezed his legs together, desperate to keep the contents of his bladder where they belonged.</p><p> </p><p>SMACK </p><p> </p><p>SMACK</p><p> </p><p>SMACK</p><p> </p><p>Self-pity washed over Reek like the waves of the sea. His Lord spanked him again and again. The burning in his buttocks rivaled the stinging heat in his bladder. And worst of all, he was close to coming from all the struggling on his master’s lap. </p><p> </p><p>SMACK! </p><p> </p><p>SMACK!</p><p> </p><p>SMACK!</p><p> </p><p>With great difficulty, Reek managed to hold it in and keep his master’s lap dry. Lord Ramsay patted his bum in satisfaction.</p><p> </p><p>“Well done, sweetling! You’re learning to control yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>After a long while, the spanking stopped. His master amorously stroked his buttocks, but they still throbbed in pain along with his bladder and he desperately hoped to be released from his lap soon.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, we’re not done yet sweetling.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, Reek felt something long and thick slither like an earthworm straight into his hole. It took him a moment to realize it was his master’s finger. Smiling mischievously, Ramsay gave his prostate a little push, and poor Reek could take no more. His orgasm tore from him, just like his master used to tear out strips of his flesh with the flaying knife. He squeaked like one of the rats in the dungeon as he came. His buttocks and bladder spasmed. The overstrained muscles of his bladder gave out, and no amount of clenching his bottom could stop him from releasing the stream all over his master’s lap. Tears were streaming down his ravaged cheeks and soaking the bed sheets. His haggard face blushed silver where it was pressed in the bed and he didn’t even try to twitch his hips away.</p><p> </p><p>Time seemed to stand still for a moment. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is it. He will flay me from head to heel this time, and no amount of begging will end the anguish. And in his wroth he might strike me dead as well.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Death was the sweetest deliverance he could hope for. </p><p> </p><p>His Lord lifted him like a doll and seated him on his lap. His cock was hard as the hilt of his flaying knife, and pressed eagerly between the crease of his servant’s buttocks. His arms loosely encircled his waist. </p><p> </p><p>“Reek. Look at me, sweetling.” </p><p> </p><p>Trembling like a leaf in a winter storm, Reek obeyed. He was shocked to see the tenderness on his master’s face. The tiny smile playing on blood-red lips.</p><p> </p><p>Green eyes met grey for the first time that night. Reek thought of all their long, dark, twisted games together. The reason his master sought to humiliate him as much as possible during their games hit him like a ton of bricks. It brought them closer. Spankings did not hurt as much as the rack or the flaying knife, and they were incredibly intimate. They made him cry freely and feel the love they had for each other. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You and me, together forever, is that what you want m’lord? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Lord Ramsay snickered softly. He gave his Reek a sweet peck on his bare shoulder and ran a finger over the numb, painful tissue of his scar. Reek groaned as the last trickle of urine spilled out of his slit and onto his lap. </p><p> </p><p>“It seems I spoke too soon. You haven’t learned a thing about holding it in, have you, Reek? I will have to punish you for this later. But it can wait.” </p><p> </p><p>Ramsay pulled him close and turned him around so that he was facing him, straddling his lap. A firm spanking on his bare bottom always reminded Reek of how strong and masculine his master was. Reek took the opportunity to feel the warm fleshiness of his back and chest, and the iron-hard muscles beneath them. In the icy winds of winter, they were oddly comforting. Reek felt cherished and protected in his lap. He wanted his master to tease him with playful words and give him a hundred more spankings on his bare bottom. He wanted to be pinned to the bed and feel his master’s weight on top of him. </p><p> </p><p>What a beast he was, to piss himself not once but twice before his master! And how well he deserved a spanking. How just and proper it was that he would have to perform his chores that week with a red, sore bottom. The shame would be a very proper lesson for a naughty boy like him.</p><p> </p><p>His Lordship was merciful and kind. He might have made him bend over some cold stone surface, one that was very hard on his sensitive scar, but instead he took him over the delicious heat of his lap. And he used his hand rather than his painful whips and paddles and canes. His strong, soft, capable hand that warmed his bottom and felt so good as it caressed him. Reek was grateful. His Lordship was so good to him, even when he was being a bad boy.</p><p> </p><p>“You failed to learn your lesson in self-control, but what did you learn today, Reek?” Lord Ramsay asked in a soft voice.</p><p> </p><p>Reek could feel his heart flutter. He cupped his master’s face in his hands and gave him a sweet kiss, reveling in the taste of the man’s mouth and the look of surprised pleasure in his eyes. The spanking left a delicious tingling in his bottom and he could not stop himself from snuggling with his master, from kissing and caressing him. He had a most absurd urge to rut into the warm wetness on his lap and he did, like a bitch in heat.</p><p> </p><p>“I learned that no man could ever satisfy me as much as m’lord Ramsay Bolton.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeyne is no man, whispered a ghost named Theon. The words were like something in the godswood, something silver in the mist. </p><p> </p><p>Jeyne Poole and Arya Stark were two names for the same Lady. Ramsay Bolton and Snow were two faces of the same Lord. Theon Greyjoy and Reek were two sides of the same creature, the same worm who loved them both. He was here to serve, he was not quite a man or woman, he was a bride to his Lord and a husband to his Lady. Reek knew this to be true, so he locked him safely away in his mind as his master’s hands slid lower, lower.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Washing/Cleaning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Loosely inspired by two fanfics: Kicked and Keening by supernatasha and The Second Strongest Man in Asgard by thorgony. Also some old meta on tumblr by disregardcanon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sour Alyn had been saying that Ramsay kept his bride naked and chained to the bedpost, but Reek knew that was only talk. There were no chains, at least not where men could see. Just a pair of guards outside the bedchamber, to keep the girl from wandering. And on the darkest nights of winter, when all the guards were asleep, Reek could hear her slip out of the room, clad in a shimmering white gown. The winds howled and shrieked outside, and she was shivering in the cold. The Lady wandered like a ghost in the empty halls of the castle. She carried a candle for light and warmth, singing softly in the silence, almost as if she were in a trace.  </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with strain </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with chain  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with </em> <b> <em>pain...</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>His master had captured them both, his bride and his Reek. He was a hunter and they were a pair of birds trapped in a net. And he owned their souls. Reek was bound in fetters and chains. Her chains were the fact he would cut off her feet if she ever tried to run away.</p><p> </p><p>Jeyne was straining against those chains, Reek could sense it, but he knew that would only bring more pain. A sea of tears and blood.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Why won’t she learn? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She was giving him hope. She was giving him thoughts and feelings he would rather forget. She was making him forget his name, and he had to remember his name. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with meek  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with </em> <b> <em>bleak...</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>They were a strange pair, so similar and yet so different. Ramsay needed them both for different things.</p><p> </p><p>His master liked to fuck him naked after a flaying session. And he drew it out for as long as possible, as if playing with his creature’s pain was a form of foreplay. His master was more impersonal with his bride. He made her wear fancy royal gowns, cut the lace with his flaying knife, and fucked her like a jaded rapist. </p><p> </p><p><em>A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man none.</em> <em>And she is only naked when she bathes. </em></p><p> </p><p>That she did most every night. Ramsay wanted her pink and clean, just as he liked him dirty and stinky. There would be no hot baths for Reek. He would roll in shit, forbidden to wash. The clothes he wore would turn to rags, and he would be made to wear them until they rotted. </p><p> </p><p>Of his two pets, Reek was his master’s favorite, he knew that, but sometimes, he desperately envied the Lady her hot baths. Reek thought longingly of the bath his master had given him for the game they played at Moat Cailin. He had been too terrified at the time to enjoy it, but now he could not help but remember how the water felt against his skin. He was a kraken after all, he needed water to survive. His master was well aware of that and kept him away from it most of the time. But that night, he ran his fingers sensually through the water in the tub. </p><p> </p><p>“I have a treat for you,” he’d said. “Yes, Reek. It’s a bath for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Reek stared at him. Begging for a bath had once cost him a finger and a toe. </p><p> </p><p>“Remove those rags. Now!” His master commanded. </p><p> </p><p>Reek silently obeyed. </p><p> </p><p>“The breeches too, Reek. Take them off.”</p><p> </p><p>Reek disrobed, and the empty void between his legs came into view. Ramsay’s smile grew into a savage grin. He had taken his cock but left his balls intact. He liked to keep him full of lust and unable to sate it without his master’s help. </p><p> </p><p>Reek stepped into the tub. He looked like an ugly duckling in a pool. Reek gripped the edge of the tub and watched his master’s every move. The water in the tub was scalding hot. His master sat next to him and leered at him like a meal. The moonlight streaming through the window gave him an eerie glow. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you love me, Reek?”</p><p> </p><p>It was the first, but not the last time he asked him that question. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, of course m’lord,” Reek breathed.  </p><p> </p><p>A tender smile flickered across that face. “Good,” he said, leaning over close enough to whisper in his ear, “because I need you to do something, something very important.” </p><p> </p><p>And he relayed to him his task in Moat Cailin. </p><p> </p><p>“You will pretend to be a Prince, but we know the truth. You’re Reek. You’ll always be Reek, no matter how sweet you smell. Your nose may lie to you. Remember your name. Remember who you are.”</p><p> </p><p>“Reek,” he said, “your Reek.”</p><p> </p><p>“You will be tempted to betray me. To run or fight or join our foes. Betray me if you want, it makes no matter...but count your fingers first and know the cost.” </p><p> </p><p>Reek knew the cost. He nodded, and his master gave him a soft, sweet, sensuous kiss. The tenderness of it made him shudder. And it was then he’d realized Theon was dead. He no longer existed, if he ever did, not in the mortal world. Now Theon had passed into legend, he was just a character he played in his master’s games. Moat Cailin and the wedding. He was as fictional as the songs of a bard, the songs Jeyne used to love as a child. And life was not a song. He would have to teach her that if he was to help her survive. She, like Reek, would have to remember her name. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, Theon was dead, and what is dead may never die. </p><p> </p><p>This was not about the Starks. Jeyne had once trailed after Sansa like a puppy just as Theon had adored Robb in silence, but that Theon had died at Winterfell after killing Fake Bran and Rickon.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Reek could redeem himself by saving Fake Arya. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Gags/Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was vaguely inspired by gothic novellas such as Dracula and Carmilla, as well as pretty much all yandere tropes. It was also vaguely inspired by a now-deleted Thramsay fic on here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Damon’s smile was as greasy as his whip, and he tapped the whip against his calf as a man might do to summon a dog. “Oh Reek,” he called in a sing-song voice, “Lord Ramsay means to cut off your lips tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My lips have been between his Lady’s legs. That insolence cannot go unpunished. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damon was a real bully, but he was giving him a useful warning about the danger to come. Reek was oddly grateful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As you say.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damon guffawed and Myranda giggled. He had her in his lap, a breast in hand. “Go away, Reek,” she said and turned up her dainty nose at him, “the smell of you would gag a rat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not really. The rats bit him when he slept in the dungeon, gnawing at his fingers and toes and even his face.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reek fled quickly, but he could not shake the feeling that somewhere in their twisted minds, his tormentors were rooting for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so it came as no surprise to Reek when he was bound to the cross again. Lord Ramsay flayed the skin around his lips, his pale eyes narrowed in concentration, careful to leave some tissue behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He will never take all of it. He likes to hear me plead with him to spare me from the pain.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Reek rhymes with speak and squeak and shriek.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the pain was beyond shrieking, beyond sound. Reek blacked out for a moment and had a strange vision of his uncle’s ship the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Silence</span>
  </em>
  <span> sailing on the sea. His uncle had cut off the tongues of all his crewmen. Reek might have shared their fate if he had disobeyed his master’s command to place his lips between the Lady’s legs. It was either his lips or his tongue. Ramsay always made sure he didn’t win their games. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When his master had finished, Reek’s mouth was caked with blood, the way it was when he ate a rat. His remaining teeth were stained with it. And his screams were silent as a frozen sea. All the screaming had torn his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His master was racked with love and rage, and he was prone to jealousy. His eyes were like two chips of cracked ice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will always be yours, but you will never be mine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reek stared at him in silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reek belongs to Ramsay and Ramsay belongs to Reek. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His master had hammered that into his head as hard as he hammered out his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look at me like that and I’ll carve out your beautiful eyes!” Ramsay warned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reek hastily lowered his gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You fucking whore!” Ramsay screamed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He paced up and down like a caged beast. The air seemed to crackle around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are my creature! You belong to me, and my wife is a fucktoy for us to play with, that’s all she is, I shared her with you to give you pleasure, to make you happy and seal our bond with a gift of love.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His master’s eyes were pools of hurt. And for the first time since his captivity, Reek remembered that his master was barely two years older than Theon. He could see the child his master had been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I adore you,” his master said in a small voice, “I made you! And all I wanted was for you to love me. Was that too much for your master to ask one of his most dutiful servants?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence stretched like a strip of peeled skin between them. Reek could hear the drip-drip of a leak in the dungeon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reek’s lips twitched a little, but all that came out was a shapeless noise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I gave you all of me, and what do you do? You fall for my wife instead!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His master’s scream of anguish almost broke his servant’s heart. He wanted to climb down from the cross and comfort his master. He wanted to tell him that he was sorry, that he loved him, that he could not help loving both his Lord and Lady. He wanted to kiss him and bend over his lap so he could get a spanking for hurting his master’s feelings. But somewhere in his jumbled mind, Reek knew that even spankings could not fix things this time.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And somewhere far away, Theon relished the sight of his master in pain. He was sure that no one else had ever seen him like this. The bright, sweet ache in his chest was a lot like the feel of his master’s cock inside him. His master was so beautiful like this that he finally understood his taste for pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pain was the truth. Pain could be trusted. A dose of pain stripped away all secrets between lovers, it really did bring them closer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His master was on the floor, sobbing quietly. He was a big man but his shoulders were shaking. He looked like an ugly monster when he cried. After a while, he wrapped his strong arms possessively around his servant and buried his face in his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am not whole without you, Reek.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reek leaned into the touch, unsure of what else to do. The Starks and Ironborn both had songs about famous sculptors who fell in love with the statues they made. His master was one such artist. He had carved his Reek out of the shell that was Theon. And like a painter scrambling colors on a canvas, he poured everything he loved into him. The spirit of dogs and the beauty of women who screamed in agony and the smell of the first Reek from long ago. That was why he collared him, took his cock, put him in a dress sometimes, and gave him the name of his sour old friend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Most of the songs ended with the artist breathing life into the beautiful sculpture and living happily ever after. But life was not a song. Theon was a turncloak and a traitor, and Reek rhymes with sneak and cheek. They were a pair of unfaithful whores who loved their Lord and Lady. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His master was still staring at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Reek I had before you was mine alone, and I was his,” Lord Ramsay said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My father often wonders whether it was he who corrupted me, or I him. Do you think I don’t know he asked you that? But only you will know the truth: It was the first Reek, and not my father, who made me the man I am today. My mother didn’t like me much, so he was both mother and father to me. He taught me to hunt two-legged prey and savor the blood of a sweet maid. And he wasn’t like you. He would never betray me with some cheap whore posing as a Stark. We always shared the maidens we raped between us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ramsay pouted, his lip glistening like a fat worm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And by night, he would come to me, stinking as though his very soul was rotting, and fuck me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled wickedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was painful at first, but I got used to it.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One day, he climbed to the top of our little house to fix a leakage in the roof. And I removed the ladder from under him. He was stranded up there until I agreed to put it back. I suppose he must have seen the new strength in my eyes, because from that day on, he learned his place and never hurt me again. I took the lead on our hunts and games. I fucked him by night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ramsay leaned closer, pale eyes glinting.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I ordered him to poison my brother, that I might become a Lord.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alas,” Ramsay sighed, “I was not to have him much longer. I knew I had to kill him someday. He had hurt me terribly and he knew too much. And so he died for me, he died as me, he died sweetly into me, that I might live. He became me and I became him. We became one with each other. I was the second Reek, and you are the third. He was the rough sketch. You are the masterpiece.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His master stood up and gazed at him tenderly. He placed a gentle kiss upon his mouth, it felt like being kissed by maggot wings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I loved him, sweetling. I loved him very much, and when I saw you I knew I could love you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, his master grinned. He looked more like himself now, and for Reek, it was like the moon had come out from behind a cloud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will wait for you, sweetling,” Ramsay said, “I will be most patient. You are still a puppy and I know you need some more training. And I will wait as long as it takes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reek nodded, he was still in too much pain to say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to ravish you, sweetling. I will train you to be mine,” his master said confidently, “I will ruin you for anyone else in the world. All you need is a little push in the right direction.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he stabbed him in the leg with the flaying knife. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Bites/Bruises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic was heavily inspired by an old fanfic called Bent by ellen_fremedon and vaguely inspired by Kicked and Keening by supernatasha. Also an old folktale about pine trees and cane plants in a storm.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak, and</em> <em>Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with wane</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with creak, and Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with strain </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with bleak, and Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with pain  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with freak, and Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with insane </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jeyne and Theon always chanted this poem in their stolen moments together. And somehow it made his chest feel lighter afterward, as if his sorrows had been halved rather than doubled. Jeyne had that effect on him. Theon found himself thinking of her, even in the most inopportune moments of the day. His eyes traced her bright brown eyes and her smile, the way the winter sun played on her golden brown hair. She was a mystery to him, so different from anyone he’d ever loved before. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Let me in,” she begged, “we can help each other. Let me share your burdens with you.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And sadly, she did. Ramsay had an itch to bed her these days, and she could be heard weeping inside her room, more often than not. It rained in her heart, it rained out of her eyes. Reek had cried so often for his master that he scarcely had any tears left. His eyes were all dried out. The only place in his body that leaked anymore was his bladder. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with leak, and Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with rain </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ramsay made her bathe more often than ever and forced his Reek to act as her bath maid. His task was to borrow some serving women and fetch hot water from the kitchens. He helped her into the tub and sat beside her as she bathed. Reek shivered a little. He could not help noticing that her position was similar to the one he was in, when his master had given him a bath for Moat Cailin. The one difference was that she actually wanted him here. And he could not fail to notice her bruises, her small pale breasts were covered with teeth marks. Lord Ramsay showed his love with bites and bruises. </p><p> </p><p>His master had once nibbled on Reek’s ears and japed that he was going to flay off those ears, cook them crisp as crackling, and eat them for dinner with salt and butter. Reek wailed and begged to be allowed to keep his ears, but then he saw his master’s smile and realized he was just being affectionate. Reek had a huge bite mark on his neck where his master had claimed him after flaying his lips. And he was still hobbling from the stab wound on his leg.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still very angry with you, but I’m beginning to see what you see in her,” Ramsay told him one night. Reek was seated on his lap and he pinched his earlobe in between his sharp teeth. “I have become oddly fond of my sad little wife. My first wife scarcely made a sound in bed, at least before she ate her fingers, but this one squeals and shudders when I bite her breasts.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes flashed. “I think she’d make a better dog than wife, but no matter. She is still my bitch either way, and so are you.” </p><p> </p><p>And his master was not the only one with a proclivity for bites and bruises. Long ago in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, Damon and Myranda came to watch him. Her eyes crinkled when she looked at him, and she turned to her husband. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you think he’s pretty?” She asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course I do. You think he’s pretty too.”</p><p> </p><p>Damon sidled up to her and gave her a sharp nip on the ear. “Ramsay says I’m to fuck him tonight, and I’m jolly well looking forward to it. But don’t worry. I’ll have plenty of time for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Myranda rolled her eyes. “Huh, perhaps I’ll have him too.”</p><p> </p><p>Damon’s eyes flared. “How’re you going to have him, your fingers and tongue?” </p><p> </p><p>She pushed him hard, and he shoved her up against the wall of the dungeon. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re mine!” he growled. “You’re not going to bore me, are you, Myranda?” </p><p> </p><p>She caught his bottom lip in her teeth and bit down hard. The blood glistened in the light of the torch. Damon stared at her, shocked and exhilarated. Myranda gazed up at him fondly. </p><p> </p><p>“Never.” </p><p> </p><p>And Reek was left to ponder in silence what he’d ever done to deserve this. He was a wretched thing, he deserved to have his head struck off, but watching this strange romance unfold was pure torture. Myranda was like one of the Boys, the only one who was a woman. And Theon was the only one of the Girls who was a man, or had been a man. They might have been friends, or lovers at one time, but where the Boltons ruled, friendship and love were hard to come by. Myranda’s cruelty made him all the more grateful for Jeyne. </p><p> </p><p>“Just be Arya,” he told her sternly. He knew he was being very harsh with the girl but that was the only way to protect her. </p><p> </p><p>Jeyne nodded in silence. She never called him Reek, how much ever he begged her to. </p><p>And she never seemed to notice his smell.</p><p> </p><p>“I had a dream last night, a vision of sorts.” Reek said. “There was a winter storm in all of Westeros. The Storm God was at war with the Drowned God. The old gods and the new trembled and took sides in this great war. The trees in the godswood stood straight and tall, they refused to bend in the storm. The water, on the other hand, chose to bend in the wind. The trees were all destroyed, they were reduced to timber and carried away on the water. And the water in the pools and the sea remained to give life on the earth.” </p><p> </p><p>“You will have to learn to bend, my Lady,” he said gravely. “Bend for him and be Arya.”</p><p> </p><p>Her small fingers laced into his. “I know. Lord Eddard refused to bend and he and my father died for it. But I was t-trained. I was trained to bend and please my Lord in the brothel.” </p><p> </p><p>She was a fake princess, only a steward’s whelp, but maybe they could pull this off. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Reek, Reek, it rhymes with sneak, and Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with feign </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The Starks had refused to bend, and many of them lost their lives, but Reek and the Lady came from families with a strange affinity for water.</p><p> </p><p>“If you cannot bend, he will break you,” Reek warned, his breath warm and secret between them. </p><p> </p><p>“I can bend,” she whispered back. </p><p> </p><p>She pulled him close, and kissed him on the mouth. </p><p> </p><p>Her kisses were flakes of sugar and snow. Her smiling eyes were freshwater pearls and falling stars. </p><p> </p><p>They kissed and kissed, and the taste of hope was sweet on their lips, the longer and deeper they kissed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really enjoyed writing this! I'm looking to be more active in fandom so please interact if you like my stuff :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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